


basically memento probably

by MalkyTop



Series: he is beauty he is grace that's a lie please save this man from himself [18]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Anterograde Amnesia, Gen, continuing the theme of, i'm super proud of how this turned out honestly, sanji suffering but he has friends, so before the whole plan with bege, written around when sanji ran to luffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalkyTop/pseuds/MalkyTop
Summary: when you're in a wedding with someone who can screw with your memory and you're also planning on crashing the wedding, accidents are bound to happen.





	basically memento probably

**Author's Note:**

> guys, this chapter was so fuckin hard, my dudes, i had so much trouble, and there was grad school too, so anyways, hi.

The plan went wrong, because of course it did. It always did.

It was easy enough to disarm Pudding, knowing what was coming. He could even bear to point the gun at her as long as he didn’t think about it too hard. And then it was a matter of revealing Big Mom’s ploy to the Vinsmokes, and then Luffy and the others jumping out of their hiding places and breaking hell loose right then and there.

In the confusion, Sanji would slip away from the altar and everybody would just run for it, into the convenient mirror world, out to the entrance hall, out the front door, away from the castle, away from the island, away from every bit of this miserable mess that he had let everybody get caught up in.

At least, that was the plan before he felt _something_ slip into his head and _pull…_

“As if you’d shoot me, idiot!” Pudding spat, letting her cute facade drop. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see the roll of his memory bunched up in her hand, a pair of scissors hovering threateningly near. To the audience, she bellowed, “Nobody move, or I’ll make this brain-dead moron _really_ brain-dead!”

Seeing his friends freeze, Sanji followed suit. This was where his self-indulgence had led him, his greediness, his selfish impulse. Truthfully, he had somewhat expected this – but like hell he would drag everybody else down with him. “Forget it, just run!”

Nobody ran. He sort of expected that too. What he didn’t quite expect was for Judge Vinsmoke to stand up, cape flapping, and shout, “Men, to arms!”

Or, no, he sort of expected it. He just really hoped that none of the Vinsmokes would have been stupid enough to try.

Clones upon clones threw themselves forward, a ludicrous sight in the face of Big Mom and her own army – though Brook evened the field a little by somehow expelling the souls of the more inanimate soldiers. The clouds above roiled with purpose and threatened to pop with thunder, but as pockets of cold and warm air collided in the atmosphere, they recoiled and twisted in odd formations, like a creature in pain. And Big Mom’s various officers/offspring clashed to a standstill against the opposing masses.

A group of Vinsmoke soldiers collected themselves in front of the altar, weapons pointing at Pudding. She watched them approach, gazed across the mess of the ceremony, realized that she had failed; and when the soldiers took yet another step, she screamed, or maybe yelled, howled, really, and pulled the film in her hand taut and

Sanji couldn’t see it happen, but he could _feel_ it, blades slashing, stabbing, sliding through _something,_ a word, a taste, the face of a person – and then Pudding was gone (punched, kicked, simply blown away?) and he was gone as well, toppling over and drifting away in the middle of an outright war.

* * *

 

The first person Sanji sees by his bedside is Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, sitting up.

Her mouth quirks upwards, lopsidedly. “Hello to you too.” Her eternally placid face makes him open his mouth to curse her out a little more, but then Chopper speaks up.

“You’re awake!” he chirps, and Sanji practically jumps. And maybe it was bad of him to notice Reiju over Chopper, but the kid could barely peer over the side of the bed without something to stand on. “Reiju, could you tell everybody? I gotta do a check-up now.”

Reiju nods and stands up, and there are no words for how surreal this feels. Sanji can’t even figure out _why_ it’s surreal. As soon as she closes the door behind her, Sanji strains out, “Is she, are there, is there any more of _them_ – “

“It’s just Reiju.” This is said softly, the feeling of a fireplace on a winter’s night. Chopper pushes his chair over and sits up on it. “Um, so. You don’t actually have a lot of injuries this time around...but, how does your head feel? What do you remember?”

That’s...certainly a question. (Two, technically.) The world is a little bleary, but that might be from being recently unconscious. He can move his limbs and accurately touch his nose and all the other stuff that implies a working brain. The real nail-biter was the memory.

“Pudding-chan got me,” Sanji says, kneading his forehead. The Vinsmokes. Outright war. The wedding. Every single piece of shit thing he did before. “How is everybody?”

Chopper shrugs. “We survived. The Vinsmokes survived. Do you know what you forgot?”

“Uh, no. I forgot it.”

Chopper gives him a look usually reserved for Zoro; the exasperated ‘I leave you for _one second_ ’ look, not the ‘ _aaaaaaaaaaaa’_ look. “What about any holes in your memories you notice? Like, if you let it play in your head?”

It’s not exactly an exact science, but Sanji can’t say he knows any other way to do it, and so he leans back and runs through everything he can. But what does a hole in your memory even feel like? How can he recognize it from just plain old –

“Oh,” he says, and Chopper perks up. There’s a hole – except not the hole he expects, but an actual _hole_ in his memory, as in, this dark hole just appears one second – not like there’s a hole in the sequence of events, see, but a hole in the actual scene itself where there’s obviously not supposed to be a hole, does that make sense?

Chopper frowns and tilts his head. “Um, I think so. Like someone just cut one part of it out? I mean, I guess that’s what she did, but...”

“I mean, I can just fill in the hole if I think about it,” Sanji adds. “It’s not like I forgot what’s _there,_ it’s just...I can’t remember it automatically. Not a big deal.” It’s unnerving, though, looking back and seeing these imperfections, cuts and gashes littering past faces and places.

Chopper appraises him for a moment, then smiles. “Well, if that’s all there is, then okay! I’d like to monitor you some more, but I can’t see how – “

The infirmary door bursts open and Luffy reaches the bed in a single bound, followed by the others. Chopper shouts at Luffy to quiet down, stop crowding, starts explaining Sanji’s condition. But Sanji focuses immediately towards the back of the group, at the one lingering behind, and he points at Reiju and says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s odd how she looks more shocked than he is.

* * *

 

Anterograde amnesia, Sanji learns, is a special sort of amnesia where the patient can’t make new memories. He has no idea how many times he’s learned it, and that sort of thought came with a special kind of paranoia where the only person he’s afraid of is himself. His only solace is that he will forget the whole thing soon. Ignorance is certainly bliss.

“You can still learn things,” Chopper had said, and then dove into a full-blown explanation about cognition and memory storage and the different types of memory that Sanji didn’t need amnesia to forget. “And...it could be temporary? Not that I know how devil fruit-induced amnesia works, but...”

* * *

 

“Zoro! _Sanji-kun!”_ Nami’s voice snaps in the air like a whip, and he spins to face it like a compass with its mind in the gutter. She’s standing on the upper deck, hands clutching the railing tight as she leans over it, a familiar sight, something he can recognize as pure frustration. Her expression is changing as he watches, however, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to scream, except nothing comes out – maybe because at the same time, her hands shoot up and covers it.

He must’ve done something, right? But thinking about it, he has no idea what even happened before Nami’s admonishing tone, and that’s odd, sorta freaking him out, and

There’s a sudden force of wind behind him, strong enough to make him take a steadying step forward. It was a localized gust, as though Nami had shot her artificial wind straight through him, except clearly this wasn’t the case at the moment. No, what really tips him off is the tickle of something through his jacket, against his spine, and he cranes his neck behind him to see, a sword. Tensed, not quite touching him, but resting on the threads of his jacket, in the way, perhaps, a hummingbird would rest on a twig. And, trailing up the sword, past the hilt, all the way up the arm, there’s Zoro, with an uncommonly un-Zoro expression on his face, the expression of someone who is not in total control.

The non-existent past manages to catch up with him anyways, and he steps away and turns around – too quickly, maybe. Only then does Zoro lower his sword, sheathing all three – also too quickly. Zoro stomps heavily to the mast and climbs for the crow’s nest before anybody could say anything.

Sanji brushes a hand against his own back as he watches Zoro climb, even though he’s sure there’s nothing wrong back there. But Nami notices and hops down to the first floor, stairs apparently forgotten in the moment. “What is it? Are you okay?” she demands, and turns him back around when he tries to face her. “Chopper! Get over here!” He feels her pat his back down, looking for tears, feeling for cuts (because maybe Zoro knows how to slice a body and leave clothes intact, who even knows with him) and Sanji finds himself focusing on her touch, the probing pressure here and there, pushing him a little every time because he can’t seem to stiffen himself against her prods.

“What just happened,” he almost asks, but when he tries to say it, it comes out as “ _Fuck,”_ instead. Because, holy fuck, Zoro attacked him from behind, Zoro _snuck up on him,_ but Sanji knows that isn’t right because he knows there’s something wrong with him and he knows something happened before that, but no matter what he thinks, in his mind, all it looks like is Zoro backstabbing him. And something’s churning in his guts, his organs are spinning around like a blender because _he doesn’t want this in his head._ His own assurance that Zoro wouldn’t do that, ever, keeps clashing with the physical fucking evidence he has, and it’s terrifying.

Nami isn’t checking his back anymore, just keeping her hands around his waist, and she murmurs, “Maybe you should stay out of fights...”

* * *

 

Sanji feels the weight of a book in his jacket at all times, now. When he takes it out, it greets him with the comforting title, ‘You Have Amnesia. (Keep this on you at all times)’ And inside are pages and pages of things someone else did, or it feels like someone else did, someone who happened to do things that he did. One page is full of ‘I woke up.’ Over and over, with every previous one crossed out. That one he tears out.

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” says a too familiar voice, and Sanji startles and whirls around, and there’s Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, but Reiju just strides over and grabs his wrist, pulls it up, and that’s when he realizes he was crumpling something in his fist. The wad of paper tips and falls as he uncurls his hand, only to be snatched out of the air by Reiju, who picks it carefully open and scans the page.

At her frown, Sanji tries to peer around her side, only for her to pull it to her chest. “Hey!” he blurts, and then almost flushes at how much of a kid he sounds. He straightens unconsciously, matches her gaze (what is that look? Distant? Horror?), and says, “Is that yours?”

He meant it as a pointed statement, but once the words left his mouth he realizes that he really didn’t know. _Is_ it hers? Did he steal some note from her? _Why the fuck is she here?_

“Is this what it’s like?” she asks, turning her head to the side. She scratches at her arm absently, lips pressed tight. “Waking up over and over again?”

He opens his mouth to say, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” but instead he just clicks his teeth closed again, looks down at his shoes. And he doesn’t even need to be aware of the notebook tucked in his jacket to understand what’s going on.

“Whole Cake Island didn’t happen yesterday.”

Reiju says nothing, but stiffens. Like he just said something impossible.

“But it feels it did,” Sanji adds, and why does his voice sound so passive? “I know it didn’t because I’m _here,_ but the last thing I remember is the shitty wedding, like it happened seconds ago, only I know, I _know_ that something or some _things_ happened between then and now, I just don’t know _what_ – I’m just guessing, and I’m guessing that I’m guessing all the time, and guess what!” He throws his arms out wide. He’s shouting at this point, and he doesn’t know when he started. “Out of every single idiot on this ship, now I’m the one who’s last to know _anything!_ ”

And, and, oh _man_ what a fucking riot, because he knows, in the same way he knows that Whole Cake Island must have been a long time past, he knows that he will have this breakdown again and again, this feeling of bitterness over and over, and Reiju is right to look on in horror upon the futility of his existence, though in actuality, she’s probably looking in horror as he throws his head back, hand over his eyes, and cackles. It’s so funny, his stomach is aching, it’s so funny, tears are pouring out his eyes, it’s just that funny.

* * *

 

He’s holding a clean pot by the sink.

It looks dark out the window, nothing like the rosy blush of morning, so in that case, it must be evening. He should be thinking about dinner dishes. Sanji fills the pot with water – rib soup? Maybe tomato with eggs? – and browses the fridge, reading the notes taped to each item with the date bought – what’s about to spoil? This octopus has been here a while – and after he starts the stir-fry, after he slices and boils the tomatoes, the lotus roots, chops up the octopus, mixes the sauce, after all that, his focus is broken by the sudden entrance of Usopp.

Usopp seems surprised to see him in the kitchen (about as surprised as Sanji is seeing him) and his hand sticks to the door as he bites his lip. “Uh, Sanji? Why’re you…?”

“Cooking?” he finishes incredulously. “It’s my _job?_ Someone has to make your shitty dinner,” and Usopp flinches at that, and Sanji halts, looks out the window, looks at the laden stove, looks back at Usopp, who’s looking at the floor now. “Oh,” says Sanji, and in that word is more resignation than disappointment, and he turns off the stoves.

“Luffy’ll eat it.” Usopp smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach reassurance, instead wavering around plain tired.

Sanji looks at all the food, because it hurts less than looking at that face. His brain pushes against the idea of just chucking everything into that rubber stomach – as if Luffy needed _more._ But he couldn’t ask everybody to stuff themselves. He could put them in the fridge for later – it only would damage his pride. (Not leftovers, but close enough to bother him – when was the last time he ever got food back?)

Usopp leaves the doorway and helps him file all the unfinished dishes away in containers, helps him wash (re-wash) the pots and pans. And before they leave, he snaps his fingers and says, “Wait, you should write down what you were making, for later.”

Sanji stares at him with a look of wary surprise. “Making what?”

* * *

 

There are four drinks on the tray.

They’re definitely not for the guys. He refuses to believe he’d ever put this much care making something for them. And there’s not enough, anyways. Does that mean there are more girls than he knows about? (Does this mean Robin’s here?)

The prospect sends an automatic thrum through his whole body, but there’s also something else. He has no idea how long they’ve been on board.

Nami’s at the orchard, elbow deep in loam, but she wipes her brow and smiles, taking a drink in her dirt-clad hand, and she’s so fucking industrious he could cry (and the glasses had been so pristine, he could cry). He’s already on the move before he can think of asking her about the other recipients he doesn’t have a face to.

If two more women joined and he can’t remember them, does that mean he’s been acting like it’s the first time they’ve met? Every single time he sees them? He can imagine in great detail the way that scene would play out just because he’s played it out so many times that if it were a movie reel, it would have deteriorated long ago. And, the idea is fucking horrifying. These ladies are reliving their first impression of him every single day and _god_ he wants to crawl in a hole and die, but also, if he sees them he would absolutely do it again.

There’s a white blur that lands heavily in front of him, and oh, it’s Carrot. That’s one relief. She catches sight of the tray and swipes a glass, downs the whole thing, and tosses it back on the tray in one movement. She’s definitely a sporty kind of cute, a type of energetic he’d definitely swoon over, but he’s not about to do the full works at the drop of, well, her. She blurts out a “Thanks!” and carries on her way.

So that leaves one more mystery woman. Sanji continues to the deck proper; judging by the sun, Robin would likely be enjoying its light with a book. Maybe he can ask her, since Carrot ran off before he got a chance to get a word in. Would it be okay to ask her? What should he ask? God, does this other woman hate him? Does she only ever know him as ‘the one who drops everything to run over and belt poetry about beauty and romance?’ Do the others have to keep apologizing for him?

There are two deck chairs, and Sanji grimaces. Then almost backs off and over the side of the Sunny once he actually sees who she is.

“ _What the fuck are you doing here?_ ”

Reiju looks up from her conversation with Robin. Reiju is talking with Robin. Reiju and Robin are in deck chairs side by side, reclining in the sun together and chatting. His sister. Robin and his sister. _What did she tell her?_ He thinks in a panic, but he doesn’t know which ‘she’ he’s worrying about. Both options are all sorts of uncomfortable, but most of all, _Reiju is on the ship with his friends and on good terms somehow and he’s just having a hard time reconciling the fact that two different parts of his life collided in unexpected ways behind his back so much that he’s not actually sure what he’s feeling and also aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_

“Discussing recent literature,” says Robin, her countenance as calm as ever like this is a normal thing that happens all the time, which, considering how things are, it probably is. “Are those drinks for us?”

The way she talks, the way that nobody comes running at his sudden outburst, throws Sanji off-balance enough to trick his brain into stopping the alarms. “Yeah,” he finds himself saying, finds himself hustling over to serve Robin. And his _sister._

“It appears we share the same tastes in books,” Robin continues. She accepts the glass with a nod. “As such, we have been conversing about certain titles we have both read and sharing recommendations on titles we haven’t. I do hope to obtain a copy of the one about the man who was eaten alive by eels. Did you know, he was found only when his wife's sister's cousin brought over an excellent unagi dish to the family potluck? Someone bit into the prosthetic pinky he was known for.”

“Is that so,” Sanji hears himself say as he hands over another glass.

Reiju doesn’t look at him when she takes it. He sees that her mouth has flattened. “Yes. It is.”

“I’m not quite sure when we’d be able to find an area that specializes in North or West Blue literature, however. And Reiju understandably was too preoccupied at the time to recover her personal library.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. He’s still just standing there. The tray still has Carrot’s cup on it and he keeps holding it up instead of tucking it under his arm and now his wrist is feeling sore. He’s staring at Reiju.

“Excuse me,” Reiju says after a moment, then stands up with her drink and walks somewhere inside.

Sanji’s still staring at the door she goes through. Robin’s stopped talking for the moment, but it feels like she wants to say something more.

“Do I always, react like that? When I see her.”

The way Robin doesn’t answer is answer enough.

He’s not really sure he wants a sibling talk. He’s not sure how he even feels about Reiju. Despite Whole Cake Island. Because of Germa. He doesn’t know what he’ll say if he gets the chance, but he’s a fucking adult and he’s pretty sure a sibling talk is needed whether he wants it or not, and he goes to the kitchen to drop off his tray and forgets what he’s looking for.

* * *

 

He wakes up and almost tosses himself off his bed, because the last thing he knows is everybody warring against a fucking _yonkou,_ over _him,_ and what happened? Where is he? Did everybody make it?

Sanji glances around, and this is the Sunny he’s on, the familiar quarters he’s slept in, the usual quiet calm of snoring crewmates that he knows well. He hears sheets rustle behind him and from across the room, Luffy sets a hand on his head and mumbles, “You’re fine. ‘S fine,” before his arm goes limp and snaps back into place. There’s the sound of someone else rolling over and Sanji turns and jumps at the sight of Jinbei.

Jinbei, for his part, doesn’t look surprised, but leans up against an elbow and says, “Did you sleep well?”

He doesn’t know the answer. He _feels_ well-rested though, so he says, “Yeah.” He can’t keep the guarded tone out of his voice, though, and coughs to get enough time to collect himself. Whole Cake is behind them. He can see Usopp drooling on his pillow, so it must be _far_ behind him. But Jinbei is here, which means…

“I’ve joined the crew,” Jinbei says, and Sanji is sure he’s recited this before but the words don’t sound tired or pointed or anything. “Carrot and Reiju are new members as well.”

Sanji frowns at that, but somehow hearing Reiju’s name isn’t entirely surprising. Or maybe he’s learning to just roll with all this new-old information being thrown at him. Sanji asks, haltingly, “It’s morning...right?”

Jinbei nods, a gesture that seems odd without much in the way of a visible neck. Sanji hesitates before turning to his locker and changing into some clothes. “Would you like company?” Jinbei says from his bed.

Sounds more like ‘Do you want an attendant.’ Sanji tosses on a shirt and heads out without buttoning it. “I’m just gonna wash up and make breakfast, go back to sleep.” He doesn’t see the look on Jinbei’s face, but he also doesn’t hear the big lug follow him.

“I’m gonna wash up and make breakfast,” Sanji mutters once he closes the door behind him. “Wash up, breakfast. Wash up...”

“Good morning, Sanji-san.”

* * *

 

“ _Breakfast!”_ Sanji screams at Brook, and then covers his mouth. What the fuck was that?!

Brook doesn’t look at all confused by his sudden outburst (though there’s not many ways that Brook looks besides ‘dead’) and simply says, “Yes, that sounds nice. Be sure to wash up first.”

“Uh, sure...” And since when is Brook maternal??

Violin music accompanies him on the way up to the bathroom, matching his muttered rhythm of “Wash up, breakfast, wash up, breakfast.” When Sanji closes the door behind him, he glances around, and then down at himself.

He’s...not here to bathe. He’s pretty sure. Even if he can’t tell by his clothing or by the twilight/daybreak skies outside, the only sound is Brook playing the violin, and that must mean everybody else is asleep rather than staying up late, which means it’s morning, which means he’s here to wash up.

There’s a few sheets of paper taped to the mirror. Sanji stares at it for a few seconds and then grabs his toothbrush (or someone’s toothbrush – keeping a system was impossible with nine, now twelve people on board) and starts the morning hygiene routine.

The first sheet starts with, DO NOT REMOVE. And then, in equally urgent lettering, YOU HAVE AMNESIA!

1\. Make sure you have your notebook!

Sanji pats himself down and only manages to wipe some water on his pajamas. Failed step one.

2\. When you finish each thing on the list, check it off immediately!

‘The list’ is the second page, a run-down of his morning routines. Sanji squints. The boxes next to ‘brush teeth’ and ‘wash face’ are already crossed out? He can’t remember if they were that way before, but there’s a pen in his hand and he sets it down so he can shave.

There’s a third page, somewhat askew and bearing the marks of a typical Luffy masterpiece – anybody looking at it would see the multiple heads sitting on one large, round mass, rendered lovingly in joyful technicolor, and could only come to the conclusion that this was some eldritch beast. Sanji is able to recognize it as the whole crew in a group hug.

In handwriting that could be an eldritch horror all on its own, the page says, ‘REMMMBUR!! WE LOV YOU!’

* * *

 

There’s this jolt, like he’s missed a step down the stairs, whenever he sees Franky or Robin or Usopp or Zoro. And then this swell in his chest – they’re here! He didn’t actually think he’d see them again! And he’d smile, and their reactions would vary in their precariousness and then he’d realize, there is something wrong with him.

And then he’d realize, he’s had this realization before, who knows how many times, and it’s hard not to wonder if he’s just a nuisance, if he should just be put in an asylum and not bother anybody.

* * *

 

“That’s really what you want?”

Sanji blinks. He’s at the dining table. Everybody is, it looks like, including the somewhat surprising additions of Carrot and Jinbei, and there’s the heavy air of a Crew Discussion. Also, Reiju’s here.

He jumps a little at that, but if anybody notices, nobody says anything. Their attention is on her, and so is his. Her eyes flick over to him before she nods. “I don’t think I ever properly joined. I can take care of myself on my own, and there’s no reason for me to stay. This island seems amenable.”

Luffy hurms, tilting his head. “We’ve got men here too, though.”

“She wants to stay at this island,” Nami whispers.

“Oh! Um, I wasn’t gonna keep you here or anything, you can just go if you want to.” He’s got an easy smile on his lips, but it’s not as wide as it usually is. “I mean, you’re super cool even though you can’t cook, and I think I figured out how to tell you and Sanji apart finally!” (This time Sanji almost leaps to his feet because _what?!_ But he controls himself for the sake of the atmosphere in the room.) “So it’d be cool if you stayed, but if you don’t wanna, that’s fine too!”

Reiju almost quirks a smile, but not quite, and it’s a little odd because somehow the image of her always includes a smile, even if it’s not a smile Sanji recalls in fondness. “I appreciate it,” she says, then picks up a small pack and just walks out the door.

Everybody stands up to follow her out, at least going to see her off. Sanji doesn’t get the idea until he’s the last one in his seat and ends up lagging behind as the others line up.

Reiju’s figure is small, consumed by the sand on the beach. If the sun was out, she might have blended in altogether and disappeared. Everybody’s waving, and he finds himself waving as well. Nobody’s looking at him. It feels like there’s a reason they should.

“How long was she here?” he asks. He can see the others turn to him at his voice, but he’s already pounding down the gangplank.

His feet are a little clumsy in the sand, but after getting enough momentum he manages to find a good balance and catches up to Reiju a minute later. She has the courtesy to stop once she hears his approach, but doesn’t really do anything except stare as he leans over to catch his breath.

“Hey, how long did you stay?”

It’s less a demand and more of a wheeze, but he straightens up once he hears her say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“A long time, right?”

She doesn’t answer that, preferring to look at the ground. Her face looks unnatural with that sort of expression.

“So why would you leave now?” When she still doesn’t speak, Sanji says, “Because of me?”

“It’s more because of me,” she replies, giving him a brief glance before staring back down. “They’re your friends. And it’s easier this way. You won’t notice a thing.”

“They’re not my friends,” he says, and at her disconcerted look he backtracks. “I mean, they are! But they don’t _belong_ to me! Did you like staying there?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But did you like it there?”

“I’m too much of a reminder for you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he says. “ _But did you like it there?”_

She tightens her grasp on the strap of her bag. “They’re good people.”

“They’re really fuckin’ great people,” he says.

And then he says, “When I saw you at the table, it scared the fuck outta me. And imagining you on the Sunny is really fucking weird. But also, I’m a fucking asshole.” Reiju moves to speak but he raises a finger. “Don’t pull the kindness crap on me. You haven’t seen me since I was fucking eight, I’m really a complete asshole, and if you stayed as long as I think you have, I’m pretty sure you already know that. So first of all, don’t let one asshole ruin everything. There’s always gonna be that one asshole on any ship you go on, and – actually we’ve got at least two, but for some reason everybody else tolerates the other one so you’re probably fine with him.”

Reiju’s actively frowning now, which was a little better than the placid face from before. “I don’t think you’re as convincing as you think you are,” she cuts in, but Sanji’s still an asshole so he interrupts again.

“Second of all, I don’t give a fuck.”

Reiju’s face twists into an expression he’s actually never seen on her before, actual fury, and it actually scares the shit out of him but he’s not about to say so. “You can’t actually _mean_ that! Do you really think I’m an idiot?!”

“No, but you’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“Ex _cuse_ me? About _what?”_

“You fucking gave me a rousing speech about fucking friendship, you shithead,” he says, and Reiju gapes for a few seconds and flounders. “Yeah, didn’t think I remembered that? Jokes on you, I remember it like it was yesterday, because it literally was yesterday for me.”

It looks like she has to think for a moment to even recollect her exact words. He’s not even sure that she actually does when she says, “That’s an entirely different thing.”

“Yeah. We don’t have a genocide breathing down our backs. You’re still a hypocrite. Anyways, back to me not giving a fuck. Because I don’t. And the reason why is,” he adds a little louder, just to preemptively out-shout whatever it is Reiju’s about to shout back, “when I actually get over it and think about it a little, I don’t care, because _I don’t hate you!_ ”

Reiju gapes again, and stays like that. Her pack isn’t on her shoulder anymore but on the sand instead, strap loosely hanging from her hand. Sanji starts ticking off on his fingers. “So, in summary, I’m an asshole, you’re a hypocrite, I don’t give a fuck. And maybe I _will_ give a fuck when I see you next time, but then I’ll go back to not giving a fuck. And you’re gonna have to remember what I just said because I’m not going to say it again, because I’ll forget it.”

Reiju is silent for a few moments. “I can write it down for you.”

“I’ll kill myself if I remember that I called the mosshead a fuckin’ great person,” Sanji says, in total seriousness. Reiju finally laughs, louder than he’s ever heard her, and he never thought he’d miss it.

* * *

 

The eggplant he’s holding in his hand is wonderfully smooth, a beautiful dark shade, and he presses his fingers against the skin, testing its give.

“Y’all buying that?” comes a voice across the booth. A woman stands behind baskets of produce, thick arms crossed. He can’t hear it, but he’s pretty sure she’s tapping a foot on the stone road. He smiles instinctively.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t, ma’am,” he replies, and his voice itself sounds like a bow. He holds up the eggplant. “How much are – “

She interrupts with a gritty sigh and snaps, “Five hundred per pound.” Sanji almost drops his smile.

“I’ve asked that before.” He’s answered with a roll of the eyes, and probably he’s said ‘I’ve asked that before’ before as well.

“You could stand to be a little more tactful.” Sanji jumps. That’s Reiju’s voice, standing right beside him, and when he looks around, he sees that Usopp and Zoro are milling around nearby – more specifically, Zoro is drifting vaguely in random directions and Usopp is dragging him back into place. He looks back to the produce stall as Reiju nudges him aside to directly face the stall’s owner, basket of goods swinging from her arm, and there’s something weird about having Reiju... _stand up_ for him. It’s unnatural. “He’s a customer, isn’t he? Shouldn’t you treat him as one?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ve got a – “

“ – memory problem,” the stall owner finishes with another heavy sigh. Sanji hears Reiju bristle beside him and quickly clamps a hand on her shoulder before she goes for the jugular. “And none of your friends can pick out produce because you’re the only one who knows about the good stuff, and then you’ll look at something else for five minutes and we’ll have the same goddamn conversation about three times.”

He can feel Reiju’s shoulder tense at the same time his arm goes limp, and it almost looks like someone’s going to get jumped right then and there. The stall owner glances at Reiju disinterestedly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He’s gonna forget in a sec.”

“You inconsiderate little – “

“Too true.” Sanji chuckles and tosses the eggplant into the basket Reiju’s holding, jostling her out of her fury. “What else do we need?”

Reiju hands over a list, her eyes glimmering with frustration on his behalf, and also in his direction. It’s a shopping list with several items already crossed out. He makes sure to take his pen and strikes through the word ‘eggplant.’

“You done here yet?” the stall owner cuts in before he can even look over the rest of the list. He’s holding up her business. He’s taking too much time. He’s being a nuisance, and the shame of it all sinks deep into the mire of his guts, and that’s when Reiju flips the stand over.

* * *

 

His shoes click against a cobbled road and he freezes for a moment, glances around – but the town smells of things other than suffocating sugar and he can see Reiju, Usopp, and Zoro as they stop a few steps ahead, and he relaxes.

His hand flits to his jacket before he even realizes it and he takes out a book and flips to the end. Mamigo Island, it says, and then a rough map that shows the general shape of a town (this town?), which isn’t really helpful as a map at all. There’s also a list tucked in the pages, with various ingredients running down the paper, most of them crossed out with numbers scribbled next to them. The price total doesn’t seem too exorbitant just yet. And fuck, they don’t have salt?

Sanji glances back up and around at the stalls around him and then starts towards a promising one, only for Usopp to hook him by the elbow and tug him back. “Hold on, don’t go off on your own.”

His instinct for sheer assholery tells Sanji to keep walking, because he can probably just pull Usopp along if he tries. (And hey, he wouldn’t be going off on his own either.) But instead, he grunts and huffs out, “What’re you, my babysitter?”

“Technically, yes. I currently have the hellish job of babysitting you and Zoro _at the same time_ , so I’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost.”

Sanji waits for the sentence to continue, but he’s never been a patient person. “And?”

Usopp blinks. “And what?”

“You’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost, and…?”

It takes a moment of Usopp shuffling his eyes from Sanji to Zoro and back again, but then his face brightens, “Oh!” and then falls uncomfortably. “Oh.

“Look, Sanji. When I said ‘lost,’ I was, _kinda,_ not just talking about Zoro.”

It doesn’t take as long for Sanji to catch the meaning and he splutters a little before jabbing a finger towards Zoro. “That shitty wandering moss is right behind you and you’re worried about _me!_ ”

There’s a dangerous-sounding “ _Hn?”_ and Usopp’s pushed backwards as the shitty wandering moss himself leans into Sanji’s face with an expression like murder. “Y’got something to say to me?”

Sanji stands his ground even when Zoro’s shitty breath manages to break through his cigarette’s smoke. He doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, sneering through his grimace. “Yeah, I’m saying if you were actually moss, you’d grow on the wrong side of a tree.”

Zoro snorts. “And you don’t even know where the ship _is._ ”

“ _Zoro,”_ Reiju starts, frowning. She doesn’t laugh, as much as he expects it, and even odder, Zoro actually holds his hands up like he’s about to placate her.

But Sanji’s already opening his mouth for a retort. “I’d still find it faster than _you!_ I have the fucking sense to fucking go to the ocean!”

Zoro abruptly turns and sneers, as expected. “You have sense? News to me.”

And that’s it, here it comes, Sanji taps his shoe on the road, ignores the way Usopp covers his face and moans “Oh god,” huffs out smoke like a threatening volcano, and bites back, “Sure I do, allow me to _knock some into you!”_

And _god_ it feels so good to fucking aim a fucking foot straight at that fucking face, he doesn’t know how long it’s _been,_ like literally he doesn’t, and out of the corner of his eye Reiju seems about to intervene but pauses too long to hand the groceries over to Usopp, it’s too late, the clash is inevitable and he’s waiting for that solid _stop_ when his shoe connects with metal –

– except Zoro doesn’t. Doesn’t even draw a sword. Sidesteps and walks away like it’s over already. It’s like the world’s just a little off-balance and Sanji can’t even rouse himself to kick at Zoro’s stupid back because there’s something about Zoro just walking away that’s more chilling than condescending.

He jumps when Reiju sets a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your consternation. We’re just being cautious, considering your, condition.”

“What?” Sanji says, and, in a rare moment of recall, adds, “Oh.”

He almost says something else, but decides against it because he’s not about to tempt fate. But still, he can’t stop himself from thinking, what’s the worst that could happen?

* * *

 

The sound of his shoulder against the iron bars is a pathetic sort of noise, possibly not even a noise at all. It’s hard to tell through the noise of the bruise growing on his arm.

The bars are solid. Didn’t even shake against his weight. Sanji’s panting, so he must have been at this for a while. Might be a good time to stop and take stock, because he doesn’t know where the fuck he is.

Instinctively, he moves to reach into his jacket for something, but encounters the issue of his arms are shackled behind his back. His legs are chained as well, which explains why he hadn’t just kicked his way out. And he’s really fucking pissed, which seems natural, but he has the niggling feeling that he’s pissed for something other than the whole being locked up thing.

The cell is solidly made, professional; it looks like it’s built to say, ‘don’t bother.’ So it seems more likely to be Navy than anything. Meaning seastone is probably at play too. Fuck.

He’s repeating it in his head – seastone, seastone, seastone – though he knows he’ll blank out eventually and end up abusing his poor shoulder more. He shuffles, paces the length of the cell; the walls aren’t made of seastone, he could bust through those, if he could figure out how to break the chains on his ankles. Though first of all…

Like a reverse jump rope, Sanji hops right over the chain locking his wrists and lands neatly back on his feet. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s trapped, but at least he’s trapped with his arms in a comfortable position.

Before he could figure out a way to break his cuffs, Sanji hears marching feet approaching down the hall. He backs away from the bars just as some big shot marine comes into view with an entourage of mooks with rifles. They don’t aim at him. He almost feels offended.

The big shot marine stands there, stroking his impressively long and thin mustache so that it points down like clock hands before springing back into place. He’s silent, stiff as the bars of the cell, could probably even blend in if the marine uniform wasn’t pristine white.

The scene plays out like this for a while, marines with rifles standing by, the big shot tugging at his facial hair, Sanji leaning slightly against the back wall but with his legs tensed. And then the big shot stops in mid-tug and says, “...Aren’t you going to ask us why you’re here?”

Without many options in the way of gestures at the moment, Sanji rolls his eyes as exaggerated as possible. “I’m a shitty pirate, shithead. It’s not hard to figure out.”

There’s a moment where it looks like the big shot is ready to tear his tacky mustache right off, but he composes himself a second later and straightens his shoulders. “We’d like you to answer some questions about the Strawhat Pirates...”

“Well I’d like you and yours to kindly fuck off.”

One marine starts to raise their rifle – shitty training job, that – but the big shot holds out a hand, and it goes back down. There’s an authoritative pause, like the big shot is waiting for anybody else to dare insubordination, and then he turns back to Sanji. “You intend not to talk?”

Sanji raises his chin. “I’m not in the habit of betraying my friends.”

And without hesitation, “Even though they’ve betrayed you?”

It hits him harder than he wants to admit, but there’s no hiding his sudden silence or the way he sucks in his breath, and it is much too late when he finally says, “What the fuck are you talking about.”

The big shot raises an infuriating eyebrow, a gesture closely mirrored by his mustache. “How do you think you got locked up here?”

It’s ridiculous of course, says his brain, but his memory can’t give him the evidence he wants. There’s a void everywhere he looks, nothing that can definitively combat what this shithead’s saying and he wants to, he _wants to,_ but the uncertainty is killing him, not the uncertainty in his friends, but the uncertainty of _everything._ Time. Place. His own fucking age. It’s enough to be paralyzing, enough to make him nauseous, he hates not knowing, and not knowing himself is the worst kind of uncertainty he had never imagined before.

But. Not his friends.

Sanji raises both hands, chains clinking against each other, and then further raises both middle fingers.

The mustache bristles upwards with indignation and the face it adorns turns a ripe shade of scarlet before he calms much too fast and rolls his shoulders. “I suppose that was the wrong angle to try. We’ll just have to start again.”

Sanji’s shit-eating grin drops. “What?”

The marines were already starting to march off, back to where they came from, and the big shot turns to leave as well, pausing enough to say, “It’s convenient, that condition of yours.”

He isn’t able to react, not before the asshole strides out of view, and it’s too late when he throws himself against the bars, hands shaking them as hard as they can, screaming as many insults as he can, anything provocative, bastard, coward, shit-sucking scum of the earth, anything to bring them back so he can keep staring them down, keep their faces existing in his mind, but nobody comes, not even when he runs out of words and just screams.

* * *

 

A loud noise startles him, and he almost bites his tongue off in surprise. For a moment, he stands there and considers whether the noise was just him talking and weighing how embarrassing that would be when a different sort of noise rattles the building, a boom that vibrates up his legs and into his head. It becomes an irregular beat throughout the cell he’s in, shaking bits of the ceiling down, and he hopes that the whole damn thing doesn’t collapse at this rate because then, honestly, he would be fucked.

The cannon blasts or collapsing walls or explosions or whatever stop before it gets that far, though, and the silence is all the more alienating for it. And then, Sanji hears footsteps coming his way.

He steps back as some sort of big shot marine steps into view, with a supercilious sort of mustache, hands behind his back. The mustache points up as he sneers at him. It would feel so good to kick that off his face.

“Well?” Sanji snaps when the big shot just stands and stares. “Spit it out. I don’t wanna see your shitty face longer than I have to.”

The big shot says nothing, but tosses an object into the cell.

It’s pretty busted and obviously burned, with bits and pieces missing, but it is very clearly a straw hat.

Sanji doesn’t see the asshole’s face but he can feel his sneer grow; he’s staring at the hat, noting how the red band is barely recognizable as red, the bright straw turned dusky, the smell of it curling into the air, the weave…

Sanji looks up again and sneers back. “Nice try, shithead.”

Ohhh it feels so good to see that sneer drop, even if it wasn’t kicked off. “What do you mean?”

“You just fuckin’ bought that at some market or some shit and wasted your money ruining a perfectly good hat like a stupid asshole. You fucking moron.”

The big shot presses his lips as thin as his mustache. “You don’t know that. You’re in denial.”

“We’re literally called the Strawhat pirates. That shithead’s been wearing the same goddamn hat for two years now. I see it fuckin’ every time I look at him, you think I can’t tell if it’s his hat or not?” Careful to not unbalance himself, Sanji crushes the sad little imposter and kicks it back to the bars. “Fuck off.”

The guy turns a ripe shade of red, but he calms much too fast, leaving his expression neutral. “We’ll just try something else, then.”

Sanji isn’t able to laugh at that.

* * *

 

He finds himself leaning his forehead against the impersonal bars of a cell, feeling like he hasn’t had a drink for ages. His breathing feels ragged against his throat, and when he grasps at anything on his mind, all he can really say is that he’s fucking pissed. Which seems natural, being trapped in a cell, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s pissed over something other than that.

Sanji hears marching feet coming down the hall and he readies his most sullen stare. The marines aren’t daunted.

He backs away when they point rifles at him, and with one smooth motion one of them swings open the door and throws another body in, slamming it shut before he can even think about charging. He tries glaring at them some more, but they don’t even look as they march off. Takes all the fun out of silent defiance.

His new roommate groans and manages to get his knees under him as he curls up, and Sanji can’t help but ask, “You okay?”

He looks like a kid, barely older than Luffy back when the crew started out, and his young eyes sparkle when they whip towards him. “Sanji! Thank goodness!” The kid tries to jump to his feet but stumbles onto his knees again, hissing at the impact. Sanji, with his arms conveniently locked in front of him, is able to at least help him up a little.

“Do I know you?” he asks, because it’s a legitimate question, and the kid doesn’t even look offended.

“I’m one of the newer crew members, Wren, just joined, pretty much a cabin boy,” he rattles off. Sanji quirks an eyebrow. Since when did they have cabin boys? “Man, I thought I was a _goner,_ but you’re here! You can get us out, right?”

“Uh,” says Sanji, flicking his gaze back to the bars. “I’ll work on it. Where’re the others?”

Wren ducks his head, his round face scrunching up in worry. “I, well, I dunno, the marines came out of nowhere, and everything was all confusing and then I got caught, but I didn’t see what happened to everybody else...”

So, half-and-half on whether any of the others could come through and bust them out. Alright. “So, Wren, anything else I should know about you? Lock-picking skills, maybe? Would be useful to have my legs free.”

Wren shakes his head, and Sanji hisses through his teeth like he still has a cigarette clamped in them. “Well, shit,” he says, leaning his head up towards the ceiling. “Doesn’t exactly make a break-out easy.”

“Oh, but I do have something~” Wren trills, turning around and opening a fist to reveal a set of jangling keys. Sanji brightens, probably would’ve hugged the kid if it weren’t for his current handicap.

“Fuck yeah,” he says instead, and scoops the keys up to help unlock Wren’s wrists. After the kid rubs the feeling back into his hands, he takes the keys back and kneels for Sanji’s feet. “We’ll still need a good plan for getting outta here. I don’t even know the layout of the place...”

“It’s okay,” says Wren, and Sanji can see him smiling widely. “I believe you can get us back to the ship, after all, you’re a Vinsmoke!”

A second later and Sanji lowers his uncuffed leg, staring down a newly-made hole in the wall. Nothing moves beyond a bit of rubble. Wren – whoever he is – is unconscious. Impressively, he’s still clutching the keys. Must be marine training.

“New crew member my ass,” Sanji mutters, even as he starts tapping a foot on the floor rapidly, like he’s doing morse code. The marines know, they _know,_ and they know how to take advantage of it, and fuck, but before he can dwell on it more he hears boots running towards the cells and he kicks down the back wall to start running, and yet –

Can he do this? Could he escape, even though he won’t know what he’s escaping from in a few seconds?

Well. All he can do is trust in himself.

Sanji bolts.

* * *

 

He’s running down an unfamiliar hall and he has no idea if he’s chasing someone or running away.

It’s a very important question seeing as there’s nobody in front of him, which is either good or bad depending on the context. But then a marine barrels down from a side hallway and immediately points a gun at him, so he thinks he’s running away. The bullet doesn’t even graze his suit as he hops to the side and then launches the poor guy down the rest of the hall.

So, running away. Where is he running _to?_

The Sunny, is his obvious answer. The problem is, the Sunny isn’t likely to be found in a building unless Franky’s made an extremely questionable update to a sea-faring vehicle. So, the exit. Which he doesn’t know where the hell it is, so he’s running blind, possibly in circles, and it’s a good thing nobody else is here because the fucking marimo would never let him hear the end of it.

There’s an easy solution to this, though, and Sanji looks right, left, chooses left, and then starts kicking down the damn walls. The upside is, this is a guaranteed way to exit a building. The downside is, he just stumbled into a nest of marines. It’s not that the marines are a problem, he’s pretty sure he’s got the reflexes to pound them down as long as he’s in motion. It’s just that, he doesn’t know if he’ll remember which way he was kicking to, or even that he was kicking his way out in the first place. He can’t trust that he will.

He just has to trust that he’ll get out regardless.

* * *

 

It’s impressive how he’s prepared to land on his feet without the knowledge of being in the air. There are marines lying face flat in a ring around him. It’s not an uncommon sight.

There’s the sound of a rifle loading and Sanji drops to the floor right as the shot sounds before running right to the gunman and relieving him of his weapon, and then his consciousness. There’s more men shouting and pouring in through a hole in the wall, on top of the men who aren’t already down, and he jumps backwards from a swinging sword, hooks it’s guard and launches the blade straight up, and as the man’s gaze follows it, he knocks him straight at the mob pushing in. Not enough to stop them, but enough to delay them. Leaning forward to duck another blade, he lets his leg swing back with his momentum and catches the guy in the chin, then swivels on his heel in a wide arc, not quite hitting anybody but driving them away from his range. There’s a long table in the middle of the room, sort of like a mess hall table, and although it’s abominably rude, he kicks it over and then kicks it again, sending it flying surface-first towards the recovering mob.

He would wonder why he’s knocking down a bunch of marines, but it’s probably for a good reason. By probably, he means definitely. As if he’s ever in the wrong. Some idiot struggles to his feet and Sanji turns and knees him in the solar plexus.

There’s a huge boom that leaves him stumbling, and then a lot of calls of “Fall back!” from one of the marines. As another boom rocks the floor, Sanji balances himself and catches sight of what looks like a fucking huge bazooka pointing its barrel straight at him, and the huge musclebrain holding it grunts and pulls the trigger,

* * *

 

The watermelon in his arms has quite a heft to it, and when he brings it to his ear and knocks, the sound reverberates in the juices beautifully. Tucking it under his arm, he asks, “How much for this one?”

The stall owner looks up blearily from another transaction and says, “You already paid, bud.”

Sanji keeps his polite smile fixed and nods a farewell. As he walks away with what will surely be an excellent dessert, he slips a hand into his jacket and finds nothing. He’s not sure what he was expecting, though.

Hopefully he already bought the necessary groceries earlier. Digging through his pockets turns up no loose change, and it looks like the cusp of evening. And carrying a whole watermelon around isn’t exactly effortless, so he better just go straight to the ship. The docks were easy enough to get to without even asking for directions. Follow a major road long enough, follow the smell of salt and brine, and it’ll just be there. At least town infrastructure everywhere was overall reliable.

The Sunny hadn’t been anchored right at the dock, which is to be expected. Finding a pirate ship that’s meant to be hidden is a little harder than finding the docks. A combination of asking locals about the area and trudging around the environment himself manages to pinpoint a small cove relatively nearby, and voila. There’s that familiar sunflower.

The watermelon’s getting pretty rough on the arms, but Sanji doesn’t speed up. Instead, he calls out, “Any shitheads on board? Could use some help!”

There’s no instant response as he gets closer to the gangplank. No rubber arms slingshotting a one hundred-forty pound stomach straight at him, or beautiful ladies to greet him, or any other asshole appearing over the railing. It’s only when he starts boarding that Franky skids into view, quite quick for someone so clunky.

“If you heard me, you coulda helped a guy out,” Sanji says, shifting the watermelon’s weight with a frown. But the way Franky looks stops any other gripes, the way his eyes are too wide and his hair not flashy enough – Franky is probably the only other guy who takes care of his hair as much as Sanji (besides Brook, but Sanji isn’t convinced a skeleton really needs proper hair care), but right now his ‘do is disheveled. Like someone ran fingers as thick as arms through it a few too many times.

Sanji barely manages an “Uh” before Franky fucking charges him with the typical bombastic wailing. He has the reflexes to curl around the watermelon and turn around before he gets swept up in a hug, and someone as feely as Franky probably should have thought about making his appendages most used for touching people with comfort in mind. Boxy edges are digging into his sides, and he thinks, at least it’s not the watermelon. (And then he thinks, the watermelon could handle this better than him.)

“ _B-bro!_ You’re _safe!!”_ Franky blubbers out through his tears. “They, they said they’d – did they do anything to you? Are you okay?!”

“Franky,” Sanji grunts with the breath that hasn’t yet been crushed out of him, “stop the shitty waterworks, it’s getting in my clothes.”

As expected, Franky drops him and turns his face away as Sanji lands softly on his feet. The watermelon is fine. “What waterworks?! I ain’t cryin’!” And then, once Franky cleans his totally cry-free face and actually looks around, he snuffles and adds, “Where’re the others?”

“How should I know?” Sanji huffs before moving for the ship again.

Franky’s hand claps on his shoulder, almost digging him into the sand. “They went out to get you, though. Weren’t they the ones that rescued you?”

“From _what,_ hiked-up prices?”

Franky’s hand seems to dig a little deeper in his shoulder. It’s only a fraction, but it’s much easier to tell with a hand made of metal. “From the marines.”

Sanji pauses, then slowly tilts his head back to meet Franky’s eyes. “Huh?”

Franky works his jaw for a while, expression uncomfortable. “You were captured by the marines. Like, yesterday, bro.”

“That’s dumb,” Sanji says, though his brain isn’t getting the message. “Whoever told you that’s full of shit. I was only shopping for a,” he looks down, “watermelon.”

“For a whole day?”

Sanji looks down at his watermelon again, then looks up. “Yes?”

Franky pinches his nose and sighs, but at the same time it sounds like a laugh. “Did you – did you just fuckin’ escape the marines _by yourself_ and then go buy _watermelon?”_

Sanji recoils in offense. “What the fuck’s with the surprise? Why _wouldn’t_ I be able to escape some shitty marines by myself?!” Though even as he says it he knows exactly why, he’s forever aware of why. But Franky claps his hand on his shoulder again and now sand’s getting into his shoes.

“You’re right, bro! My bad, my bad!” Franky’s hand engulfs the watermelon when he plucks it between his fingers like some dainty flower. As he bounds back to the ship he calls back, “I’m gonna call them! Where d’ya want this?”

“Put it on the table for now,” Sanji shouts back, jogging to keep pace. “And make sure it doesn’t fall!”

* * *

 

Entering the kitchen, Sanji just about catches Franky saying, “He’s here!”

“ _What?!”_ he can hear Nami shout back through the tell-tale filter of the den den mushi. “ _How can he be there?! We just got here! And security is through the roof, the marines are all on edge and it’s all we can do to keep these idiots from charging in!”_

Sanji trots over to join Franky, never one to ignore the summons of Nami’s voice, and he asks, “Who’s here?”

Franky says, “See?” and there’s a long silence on the other end before the den den mushi droops into a sigh.

“ _When did he get back?”_ Nami says blankly.

“Just now!”

“ _Sanji, are you okay?! Did they hurt you?!”_

“ _Did they send him back beaten to a pulp as a threatening message to the rest of us?”_

“I’m, fine?” Sanji assures, though in Robin’s case, he thinks she’s joking. “Where the hell are you guys? Are you fucking with the marines or something?” And then, a thought. “Was I supposed to be there?” he adds, tense edging in.

“ _No, no, it’s quite alright. It’s better that you’re there.”_ The voice is familiar, and the den den mushi’s mimicked expression definitely cements it. That’s Jinbei. Maybe he joined?

“ _Jeez...don’t waste our time like this, idiot cook.”_

“What did I do?!” he shouts back on instinct, though it’s a legitimate question, because what did _he_ do?

There’s a little thwap and a grunt and then another voice takes over. _“Nothing, don’t worry. Thanks for letting us know, Franky.”_

Now this voice was _too_ familiar. “Oh,” Sanji says. “It’s you.”

Reiju’s smile projects over the line. “ _Yes it is.”_

“ _Oh, so he took care of it himself, huh?”_ Luffy laughs, and Sanji can hear him turn over his shoulder and say faintly, _“See? No worries! We can count on him!”_

“ _But he’s still – I mean, maybe we worry a little? A healthy amount of worry?”_ And then slightly louder, _“I’m really sorry, Sanji, I shouldn’t have lost you, I don’t know what happened – “_

“Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?” Franky laughs, but judging by the expression from the other line, Usopp’s not as amused.

“ _Anyways Sanji, dinner! I want meat when I get back!”_

“ _Luffy, quiet, we’re still near – “_

A bunch of gunshots, panicked screams, and then Luffy shouts, _“Okaygottagoseeyasoon,”_ and then the line goes dead.

Sanji stares at the snail. “What?”

“Listen,” says Franky, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it.”

* * *

 

The knife embeds in the watermelon about halfway, and Sanji eases it all the way down and carefully settles the halves on their ends. The smell of it is of a sweet summer and he can’t help but breathe it in. “When did we buy a watermelon? Someone picked out a really good one.”

“’Course!” Luffy calls back from the table, somehow managing to keep his food in his mouth at the same time. “You’re th’ besht at picking the good stuff!”

When Sanji looks at the rich pink, there’s no pride. The watermelon’s a stranger, and he can’t abide strange food showing up in his kitchen. But, he’s the cook. And they all trust him, even when he can’t recognize the stuff in his kitchen. So. Sanji trusts their trust.

“You’re damn right I am.”


End file.
